Book of Sonnet ( VI )
by LauranTheBiscotti
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. John becomes sick and Sherlock must make a choice that would save one man's life and end another's. Johnlock. COMPLETED.
1. Black

_No longer mourn for me when I am dead_  
_Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell_  
_Give warning to the world that I am fled_  
_From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:_  
_Nay, if you read this line, remember not_  
_The hand that writ it; for I love you so_  
_That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot_  
_If thinking on me then should make you woe._  
_O, if, I say, you look upon this verse_  
_When I perhaps compounded am with clay,_  
_Do not so much as my poor name rehearse._  
_But let your love even with my life decay,_  
_Lest the wise world should look into your moan_  
_And mock you with me after I am gone._

_–William Shakespeare_

It has been 7 years since the roof of Bart's.  
7 years since the phone call.  
7 years since good-bye.

Streaks of grey made him look years older, as did the glasses John now relied upon.

John worked the clinic when he could manage, his leg forcing him to drop from five to three days a week.

John had known something was wrong with him for a while,now. His limp was back but this was something else, something worse.

It started with a constant,dull ache in his left shoulder, the one he'd dug the bullet of -oh, it seemed so long ago- and the ache came and went with the rain but after a particularly nasty fall it persisted. It was constant and gradually grew worse. The pain was so bad he could barely keep food down. Not a good thing, as his weight was already dwindling at a terrifying rate.

John been a doctor for long enough,well over twenty years, and he recognized the symptoms.

But he choose to ignore him.

He had bigger things to worry about.  
So life went on and the blackness grew.


	2. Grey

Grey.  
Everything was grey.  
Grey walls, grey ceiling, gray lights.

The doctor was speaking and John had to force himself to listen but the words faded in and out like an old transistor radio.  
"...fracture in right shoulder...WBC ...Stage 4B ...metastasized... lungs...a year ...enjoy your life...I'm sorry Dr. Watson."

John sat in his armchair a long time. It was hell dragging it in, and he had to pay the moves extra to do it for him (_I was injured in a war dammit)_ but it was here, and it was his. It was the only thing he had left after...  
John took a sip of his tea (grey). He thought about his parents, killed in a car accident. And his sister (renal failure the year before).  
Everyone he loved in his life was gone.  
So it made sense he would be next.  
He dragged the grey blanket over his shoulders and slept.


	3. White

John took a walk along the water every evening, just as the sun touched the horizon. His in-home nurse yelled at him the first time he wandered off. John promptly fired her,refusing all other John saw she was right. He used to be able to walk 3, 4 miles by himself. Gradually it dropped to a mile with the aid of a cane. Then the day came he struggled to make it a quarter of the way down the dunes.

John sat down in the sand ,toeing out of his shoes. His joints were stiff and it took him 5 minutes to get his socks off. He balled them up and tossed them aside; he had no intention of struggling to put them back on again.

He watched the sun set. The waves lapped changing colours of the reflected sun,going gradually from red to grey to black.

How like his life.

He lay back in the sand and counted the stars but he kept losing his place. He wished someone was there to help him remember.

Sherlock would be horrible at in. He could barely remember to eat.

John tried not to think about fell asleep on the dunes and dreamed of Sherlock.

The muted sound of cell phone buzzing against his ear woke him with a start. He had been dreaming Sherlock was alive...they'd grew old together and retired to raise bees in Essex.

John sleepily groped for the phone."Lo?"  
"Doctor Watson."  
"John, haven't practice in over a year."  
"..John. This is Doctor Miles. We got the test results back and we have good news Doctor."  
John gripped the phone so hard his knuckles turned white. "Oh my God."  
"Would you be able to come up Tuesday at,say, 6 o'clock?"  
"Yes." John tried to find his voice "Yes, Yes God Yes. I will be there."  
"See you then. And congratulations Doctor Watson. You have beat the odds."  
John dropped the phone. He was going to live.


	4. Blue (bells)

John was back practicing at the clinic in less than a years' time. He was only a part-time practitioner now but it was wonderful to be back. The clinic was constantly busy and John was never bored, meaning he never had to think. He got back into the groove of things quickly and for once in a long,long time he was happy.

Mary Morstan was his first official patient, complaining of a sprained wrist .  
John held her wrist as he wrapped it."  
"How did this happen?"  
"A tumble down the dunes."  
"You have to be careful. They can go out from under you quite easily. But they make perfect beds."  
"Oh?"  
They dated and in the Spring they were married among the flowering bluebells.


	5. ( Code ) Blue

John was eating his lunch in his office when it happened. A patient had come in complaining of chest pain but only made it to the waiting room before he collapsed. His NA,Carol burst into his office "Doctor hurry, Code Blue."  
"Oh, God." John clambered over his desk.  
The patient-John couldn't remember his name-was laying on his stomach,arms splayed out. John dropped to his knees and pressed his fingers to the carotid artery. It was weak but the pulse was still there. John looked for his nurse.  
"Carol. Crash cart."  
"Yes Doctor."  
John carefully put a hand on the man's back and chest and rolled him over. John did not recognize him at first; it had been nearly 10 years.

But he look so much like him... minus about 2 stone, and cheekbones deep and heavily shadowed with time and worry...John shook his head. The man was dying; now was not the time to go off in wild fantasies.

The man shuddered in John's arms and his lips moved.

"Sir, you'll be OK."

The man's lips moved again.

John looked around wildly for Carol.

"God damn it where is she?"

The secretary crouched down next to him "Sir she's going as fast -"

"Well that's not fast enough is it? Get someone up ." John shoved her away; now was not the time manners either.

Cold fingers grasped his wrist and John looked into the dying man's face. His lips moved again, this time clearly forming:

"John."

John shoved his stethoscope in his shirt and,bracing himself on an elbow, leaned forward.

"Sir my name is Doctor Watson. I-"

The man grabbed John by the collar and pulled John's head to his mouth.

"John. Help me."


	6. Gold

John's head lolled back in the chair, a bit of hard drool on his had drunk cup after cup of weak hospital coffee to stay awake but the past few days caught up to the Charge Nurse came to tell him Sherlock had asked for him he had passed out. She didn't usually wake visitors but she heard the stories about the Mysterious Detective and his Blogger/Doctor. Everyone still talked about the time they blew up a bus stop but her favorite story was the day they met. She was not able to read people like Sherlock-no one could- but she recognized true love. There was more to this,so much more than 'romantic' love and 'passionate' was no other word for it,though there should be,so true love it would have to be so named.  
The nurse gently shook John's shoulder-why was it always his bad shoulder?- "Doctor Watson, sir?"  
John tucked his chin into his chest "Bugger'ff." John vaguely waved a limp wrist.

XoX

"Doctor Watson? He's asking for you."

John was instantly wide awake and on his feet. "Take me to him ,please."  
John followed behind her, nervously flattening his hair. He tried to mentally prepare himself for what he would see behind the wood door. He was a doctor; he'd scene children eviscerated by their parents and men, once robust and loud, shrinking away from AIDS. But he was not prepared for what was in store for Jackie opened the door for him but did not follow in. She just lay her hand on John's arm before closing the door behind didn't say anything-she didn't have eyes told her every thing John needed to know. John nodded and watched the door close. He took a deep breath and walked to the bed closest to the window. The blinds were closed most of the way, and the setting sun casting everything in a gold light. It fell over Sherlock's face and danced in his curls,almost giving him an angelic appearance...almost. John dragged a chair up to Sherlock's side but did not sit down,instead pushing his fingertips into Sherlock's hair and looking at him closer. He had lost at least 2 stone since he saw him and surrounded by the machines he looked so small and fragile.  
"Sherlock?" he whispered.  
Sherlock opened his eyes. They were bleary and all the medication. John ran his hand down to rest on Sherlock's arm. He tried to smile for him,to show he was okay, but it came out as a scowl instead. "I'm here."  
Sherlock lay his hand by his side, palm up, fingers curled. "John." he mouthed.  
John's heart skipped. He placed his hand in Sherlock's and Sherlock wrapped his fingers around them. Sherlock squeezed his hand lightly mouthing his name again. Up til now John had been strong, keeping his composure but when Sherlock said his named and tangled their fingers together John completely lost it. John leaned his head on Sherlock's arm and cried. Sobs wracked his body, shaking John started he couldn't stop and he cried until his throat hurt.  
Sherlock was good about it, he understood. He remembered when Mycroft told him about John's cancer. He cried for a week, neither eating nor sleeping. He wanted to pull John into his arms but the IV and the machines he was hooked up to restrained him so he merely laid his hand on John's hair gently tugging at it. John had let it grow out and it was starting to curl. Just like Sherlock's .Sherlock ran a hand through John's hair. One long finger pulled and let loose a curl and and it bounced in the sunlight, golden and shining. John was like his world revolved around John when he was around and Sherlock didn't even know it until after he'd gone. And like the sun ,he took it for took him for granted and now it was too late...  
Sherlock tapped John's arm to get his attention."John.." he rasped, motioning to the nasal cannula. John gingerly removed the tubing and lay it over the railings of the bed. His hands shook and he gripped his fingers tight in his lap. He had to maintain control, he had to do it for Sherlock.  
"John. Missed you. Don't have long." his words game out in gasps.  
"Don't speak."  
"No. Have to tell you...Take care...always be with you ."  
John pressed his face into Sherlock's neck "I'll never forget you. You saved my life, and I owe you so much."  
They remained this way,arms around each other,until the very end.

xOx

The funeral was well-attended. It was at the funeral,ironically when the email came.  
John read it as he made his way up to say his last words. His eyes but skimmed the line as he waited behind a sobbing Mrs. Hudson. .John re-read the last sentence,and finally John fully understood Sherlock's final words: "Always be with you."

When it was John's turn he pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead.

"You'll always be with me." His fingers traced the scar tissue under Sherlock's shirt.


End file.
